


It Doesn't Matter

by treefrogie84



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depressed Dean, Gen, Post-Episode: s13e06 Tombstone, depression doesn't work like that, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 18:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12753585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: The high lasts until Dean’s on his way home to the bunker, cruising north on 281, a few miles south of I-70. One moment he’s fine, watching the greening fields and the next, everything just crashes back into him.





	It Doesn't Matter

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Nox](https://nox-lee.tumblr.com/) for running a quick grammar check and [Foop](http://formidablepassion.tumblr.com/) for cheerleading.

The high lasts until he’s on his way home to the bunker, cruising north on 281, a few miles south of I-70. One moment he’s fine, watching the greening fields and the next, everything just crashes back into him.

Dean yanks the truck into a too-fast left turn onto an old farm road. The tires squeal as he cuts across traffic, the stupid piece of shit trying to lift up onto two wheels and _fuck Sarge for sticking him with this damn thing_. He’d rather have Baby or anything else, but he can’t steal a car in that town, not when the cops know his face and beggars can’t be choosers and...

He pulls the truck over to the shoulder, folds into the steering wheel and _breathes_ , tries to get himself back under control. It’s a mostly pointless effort.

Without the road noise, the radio is loud enough to be actually heard, [The Eagles’ _Desperado_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_aQXaskEsI)playing in an example of the shittiest timing ever. He reaches over to flip it off, but his hand falls back to the seat before making it that far. It doesn’t matter. 

None of it matters. 

They -- _he_ \-- got Cas back, and that’s a win. It’s an enormous win, he’s not saying it’s not. But all the things that had been swept under that overwhelming rug are still there. Mom’s gone again, probably dead, Crowley still sacrificed himself, Jack is still a potential nuke they have no hope of disarming...

Add in what Billie said? It’s too much.

Blankly, he looks out over the field, watches the wind toss the trees on on the fence line. There’s a hawk floating on an updraft not too far away, wings extended as it moves in lazy circles. There’s nothing relying on it.

For a moment, Dean wonders what it would be like just to exist, to only be responsible for himself. He could turn around, drive back south and just keep going, away from Sam and the kid and…

And Cas.

He could…

Billie said once that she never took him for the suicide type. He’s not sure how… how she missed it? What’s his life been for the past ten years if not that?

(Why won’t anything stick, why does he have to be the firewall, why does he keep getting brought back, he’s so tired, so exhausted, he just wants to rest, but he never can, he’s never allowed to, there’s always something else that needs his attention…)

His phone buzzes on the seat next to him, a text from Cas or Sam, needing something or another. They always need something. Slowly, carefully, he unfolds himself, leans back in his seat. Right. He can’t run away, can’t drive this truck off the bridge a few miles ahead, plunge into the river, can’t do anything except be what his family needs him to be.

Present. Stable. Capable.

He feels the pressure crush his heart a little more and he lets out a half-sob. They don’t know, they can’t know, because being anything less will mean they go away. If he’s less than perfect, they’ll leave, or be taken away or…

He pushes it away, ignores the ache. _It doesn’t matter_. He doesn’t matter. He has to protect his family, even from himself.

Inhaling sharply, he rubs a hand across his face. He ignores the second buzz of his phone, roughly pulls the truck back onto the road. He’s a couple hours from home still, plenty of time to get himself back under control, figure out what to say to Jack, to Cas.

He can do this. It’s the only thing he can do. Never let them know how bad it is.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, please, if you're ever anywhere near the end of your rope, talk to someone. If you don't have anyone in meatspace, the nice folks at [IMALIVE](https://www.imalive.org/) will talk to you.  
> It's not supposed to be this hard, it's not supposed to feel like you're drowning.


End file.
